Winning Friends and Influencing People
by viggosloof28
Summary: My version of how the operation at Stalag 13 got started, and how Newkirk might have entered the picture. Cross-posted on LJ under the same title, in response to a challenge to show aspects of Newkirk's "self" - self-doubt, self-belief,etc.
1. How it All Began

Author's Note: I don't own any of the characters, or the show...I believe that honor belongs to the good folks of CBS and Bing Crosby Productions. This story is rated K+ for very minor language, and was written for a challenge on LiveJournal (it is posted there, also). This is the first fic I have ever written for anything, so I hope you enjoy! Please feel free to respond with constructive criticism, and thanks in advance for doing so!

**Chapter 1: How it All Began**

Colonel Robert Hogan of the US Army Air Corps arrived in the middle of Stalag 13's compound, jumping down from the covered bed of a German transport truck. He immediately began taking stock of his surroundings, blinking his eyes against the harsh sunlight and trying to get his bearings in this new camp. It was laid out similarly to Stalag 4, the prison camp from which he had just been transferred. This camp was slightly smaller, though, causing Hogan to exhale softly through his nose.

A smaller camp meant less men. And this might pose a problem to the mission he had been assigned. Finding the surrounding conditions in Stalag 4 to be extremely non-conducive to sabotage efforts, London had arranged for Hogan to be transferred to this new camp, in the hopes that he could establish a successful underground unit there…right under the very noses of the Germans.

The decreased size of this camp meant, though, that Hogan would have fewer men to choose from when selecting his command team. As he gazed around the stalag, familiarizing himself with his new location, he also began sizing up the men.

A tall, black American sergeant caught his attention. The man was gazing steadily at him and leaning against the side of _Barracke _2. His eyes seemed to see everything at once; Hogan was actually slightly disconcerted by the immediate understanding he saw in the sergeant's gaze. The colonel only hoped he would be less transparent to the Germans. All the same, he filed the man's face away into his memory; this was exactly the sort of man he would need on the team, maybe even as his second-in-command. One who was calm, observant, and capable.

Somewhat heartened to have spotted a potential team member already, Hogan allowed himself to be prodded into the _Kommandantur_. His meeting with the camp Kommandant was even more encouraging than the presence of the American sergeant. With such an inefficient and gullible man as Colonel Wilhelm Klink running the camp, Hogan had to wonder how any underground operation he managed to scrape together could fail to be a success. The Sergeant of the Guard who escorted Hogan out of Klink's office, Hans Schultz, seemed to be much of the same mould as the Kommandant. Judging from the size of the German guard's belly, Hogan noted, a little well-placed bribery – particularly in the form of chocolate – would not go amiss.

As this Sergeant Schultz led him across the compound, Hogan noted that he was being taken to _Barracke_ 2. The tall sergeant was no longer standing outside, but Hogan hoped that he might be found within. He had already decided to approach the man about the mission.

Hogan stepped into the barracks, squinting a bit as his eyes readjusted to the light. He immediately noticed the very man he was looking for seated at a long table in the center of the room, drinking a cup of coffee with a diminutive man in a red sweater bearing a French flag on the shoulder. Before Hogan could say anything to either of the men, though, Sergeant Schultz stepped into the barracks behind Hogan.

He shouted unnecessarily loudly, "_Achtung! Achtung, bitte!_" When he saw he had everyone's attention, he introduced Hogan formally. "This is Colonel Hogan, new senior prisoner of war officer. He will be your new barracks-mate from now on."

The Frenchman piped up, surprising Hogan, "You're putting an officer in here with us, Schultzie? You must be joking!"

"In the officer's quarters, Cockroach. Not out here with the rest of you, jolly joker!" Schultz favored the shorter man with an affectionate smile that belied his words.

"Who you calling 'cockroach,' Schultzie? Keep going on like that and I may just forget how to make apple strudel!" the Frenchman responded, clearly teasing.

Schultz's eyes widened in an expression of horror that was only slightly exaggerated. "Colonel Hogan, I hope you will be able to make them behave. They do not listen to me! Humph – jolly jokers…" He gave the short chef one last glance, then left the barracks to resume his duties.

Hogan shook his head in wonder. He was astounded at the level of familiarity already existing between the other POWs and their guard, and could only bring himself to ask, "Apple strudel?"

The Frenchman smiled broadly, got up from the table, and went to shake Hogan's hand. "_Oui_,_ mon Colonel_. I am Corporal Louis LeBeau, Free French…and gourmet chef. Once in a while, I make strudel or _crêpes suzettes_ to get Schultz to look the other way. He supplies the ingredients and gets a nice meal…and we get to keep our radio and listen to the BBC broadcasts."

Hogan raised his eyebrows in approval and smiled in return. "Pleased to meet you, LeBeau. Sounds like a pretty good set-up you've got with Schultz. Strudel for the BBC. You a radioman?" he asked hopefully.

LeBeau shook his head. "Not me, Colonel. Kinch."

Upon hearing his name, the tall sergeant rose from his seat at the table and moved to stand beside LeBeau. He offered a salute to Hogan, who in turn put out his hand to shake the black man's. The sergeant gave a small smile, grasped Hogan's hand, and introduced himself at last. "Sergeant James Kinchloe, sir. Friends call me 'Kinch.'"

Hogan smiled back at Kinch, again seeing in him a potential leader. "Radioman, huh?"

Kinch replied modestly, "Yes, sir. I try."

"He does more than try, _mon Colonel._ He is _magnifique_!" LeBeau interjected.

Kinch smiled, looking down at his European friend in amusement, before turning back to his new superior officer. "Well, sir, if you'd like to see our set sometime, I can give you the full run-down. Built it myself."

Hogan smiled even wider, and placed a hand on Kinch's shoulder. "Kinch, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Both LeBeau and Kinch grinned in return. Hogan turned slightly more serious, inquiring, "Any tunnels?"

"_Mais oui, Colonel_. We have been working on the new one for a couple of weeks since the Krauts found that last one."

"Yeah," Kinch explained. "We didn't dig deep enough, and ol' Schultz was walking over it…well, you can imagine the rest, sir."

Hogan nodded, unable to keep the amusement from creeping across his face. "And who's in charge of the, er, underground operations?"

"No one in particular, sir. I guess the one who's spent the most time down there is Carter…what would you say, LeBeau?"

The Frenchman thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Yes, I suppose he is."

"Could you tell me where to find him? I'd like a full report on the status of those tunnels as soon as I can." Hogan requested, eagerly.

"_Oui, Colonel_. I will find him for you." LeBeau moved toward the door of the barracks.

Hogan called after him, "Bring him to my quarters when you do. I wanna talk to all of you."

"_D'accord, Colonel_." And he was out the door.

Hogan gestured Kinch to follow him, and they entered the officer's quarters. The colonel's personal effects had been brought into the office, and he quickly began unpacking them. As he set up shop, Hogan spent some time getting to know his new comrade. He had barely gotten as far as learning that Kinch was from Detroit and had worked for the telephone company there, when LeBeau appeared at the door.

He had with him a thin, blond American. This man, presumably Carter, was – like Kinch – a sergeant. He had an open, boyish face, and looked vaguely nervous. He saluted Hogan uncertainly and announced, "Sergeant Andrew Carter reporting, sir!"

Hogan smiled and moved to shake the younger man's hand. "It's nice to meet you, Carter."

Carter's face relaxed immediately at the informality. He shook Hogan's hand and replied enthusiastically, "Nice to meet you, too, boy! Oh, I mean, Colonel! Sorry, sir, I—"

"All right, Sergeant, don't worry about it…but don't let it happen again, huh?" Hogan winked at the young man, despite being momentarily taken aback.

Taking a deep breath, Hogan looked around at the three men in his office, steeling himself to present the mission and ask for their help. The rule for this assignment, London had been very clear, was volunteers only. It would be dangerous running an espionage and sabotage unit from a prison camp, even a camp run by Colonel Klink. The Abwehr and Gestapo would not be fooled as easily as the Kommandant, and the punishment for such underground activities was death. Any man who volunteered for this team would be taking his life in his hands. Yet Hogan had high hopes for these three.

He shut the door to his quarters, and gestured for the non-coms to take a seat on his un-made bunk. Looking at them all for just one moment more, he collected his final thoughts, then laid it all out for them. He told it to them exactly as London had told it to him, praying they would be receptive to this seemingly insane mission.

"…So, basically, we'll be a traveler's aid society, sabotage unit, and general nuisance to the Germans, in any way we can." As Hogan finished describing the assignment, Carter's mouth was open and his eyes wide. LeBeau was staring at the colonel incredulously, but his eyes were full of fire and excitement. And Kinch was merely gazing back at him with those steady eyes and a quiet smile that signified his calm acceptance of Hogan's words.

With such a mixed reaction, the colonel was unsure whether he had won these men over, or if they simply thought he was insane. The resounding silence was broken by LeBeau.

"I am in, _mon Colonel._"

"Louie, are you crazy?" Carter blurted out. "This kind of thing could get you killed!"

"I know, _André_. But I have been here for two years. Two years since I have been able to fight the _Bosche_, and help my beautiful France. I cannot sit by any longer. Even if it may mean my death, I am in, _mon Colonel_." LeBeau reiterated.

Hogan smiled at the passionate Frenchman, and wordlessly nodded his thanks. Carter looked as if he was deep in thought, absorbing what the European corporal had said. Finally, he looked up with a reluctant smile.

"Heck, it hasn't been that long since I got shot down…but I miss doing my part in the war, too. I guess I'm in, Colonel, for what it's worth."

"It's worth a lot, Carter. We may be able to do some real good here." Carter smiled happily, blushing.

Hogan turned to Kinch at last, awaiting verbal confirmation of the "yes" he had read in the sergeant's face earlier. Kinch nodded and smiled. "You know I'm in, Colonel."

Relief washed over the American colonel and he grinned crookedly at the three men before him. "I can't tell you all how glad I am to hear it. I know you'll do everything you can for your country and the Allies."

The men all nodded, glancing among themselves excitedly.

"So, where do we go from here, Colonel?" LeBeau asked.

"Well, the next order of business will be to determine what resources we have to work with. What skills each of you has, what skill sets we still need, what shape the radio is in, how the tunnels are…all that good stuff. First things first. Kinch, you said you're a radioman. Anything else in particular you can help with?"

Kinch frowned thoughtfully, thinking for several moments. "Well, sir, I can do some good vocal impressions, and I speak a bit of German."

Hogan nodded, appreciating Kinch's instant comprehension of the sort of tasks their assignments would require. "That might come in handy for radio and telephone operations. Don't think you'll probably pass for a German in person, though, Kinch."

Kinch chuckled softly at the joke. "No, I doubt it, sir."

Hogan smiled, too. "LeBeau? I know you have a certain, er, understanding with Sgt. Schultz. That'll definitely come in handy if we ever need a dinnertime distraction."

LeBeau smiled with pride, "_Oui, Colonel_. Also, I am a reasonable tailor and familiar with the guard dogs. My German is only so-so. Ugly language."

Hogan shook his head in amusement. "Good, LeBeau. And Carter?" he turned his head to look at the blond American once more. "Kinch and LeBeau said you know the tunnels better than anyone else in camp?"

Carter looked momentarily surprised. "Yeah, I guess so, Colonel…but there's not much else I can help with, I don't think. My German's pretty bad, but I guess I look enough like one to pass…" the young man looked down at the ground, embarrassed.

Hogan frowned. "Don't worry, Carter. We'll all start taking German lessons…yes, all of us." He shot a quick glance at LeBeau when the Frenchman made a soft noise in the back of his throat. Turning back to Carter, Hogan reassured the young sergeant, "I'm sure you'll find lots of other things to help with. Any special talents or skills?"

"No, Colonel. At least…well, no." Carter hesitated.

"You sure, Carter? What did you do in civilian life?" Hogan prodded.

"I worked in a drug store, sir, I—Well, sir, I'm pretty good with chemicals…and explosives. One time I blew up my high school…I—Anyway, it doesn't matter, since we don't have any here." he quickly backpedaled when he saw Hogan's eyebrows rising into his hairline.

"Carter—" the colonel was momentarily speechless at his dumb luck. "Carter, that's fantastic! If I have to raid Berlin itself, I'll make sure I find some materials to put your skills to good use. Wouldn't want you getting rusty, right?" he grinned.

Carter's eyes lit up, and he smiled hugely. "Really, sir? Thanks! You won't regret it, boy! I make the best fire-crackers and smoke bombs you've ever seen! I—"

"I can't wait to see them, Carter." Hogan cut in, as Kinch and LeBeau shook their heads in wonder at their friend, and laughed softly.

Hogan rubbed his hands together. "Right, so what are we missing?" He began pacing up and down the office in what would come to be his trademark in the months and years to come. He snapped his fingers as a thought struck him. "A traveler's aid society is going to need fake documents and passports. We'll need a forger…come to that, we'll need a lock-pick, too. Someone who can get at whatever the Krauts think they've got locked up in Klink's office…"

He trailed off, looking at the other three men. "A forger, a lock-pick…a couple of scoundrel types, I guess. You guys know of any in camp?"

Kinch and LeBeau exchanged a significant look with one another, their faces darkening slightly. Kinch sighed and spoke up.

"If it's a scoundrel you want, Colonel," Kinch shrugged. "You want Peter Newkirk."


	2. A Visit to the Cooler

Author's Note: Once again, I own none of the awesomeness that is Hogan's Heroes. I mean no offense, and imply no ownership with this story. Thank you to all who read and reviewed the first chapter - your encouragement is wonderful!

**Chapter 2: A Visit to the Cooler**

"Peter Newkirk?" Hogan repeated.

"Yeah," Kinch confirmed. "An Englishman, a corporal, and one heck of a troublemaker, Colonel."

"_Oui._ He is always stealing from the guards and the other prisoners. Every time something goes missing, we know exactly who look for. He is behind every prank, and is always in the Cooler for one thing or another…mouthing off the _Bosche_, usually." LeBeau added darkly, though he was unable to keep himself from smiling at that last.

"Aw, come on, guys." Carter came to the Englishman's defense. "He's just bored. He can be nice, too. Taught me how to play poker and gin and –"

"And how much money has he won off you so far, Carter?" Kinch reasoned. "Colonel, I don't know if you wanna trust him with this sort of thing. He's kind of a loner. Really only looks out for himself."

LeBeau nodded vigorously, while Carter frowned slightly and looked down at his hands.

"Lots of guys here do that…."

"Not like he does, Carter. And if his civilian life is any indication…" Kinch trailed off.

Hogan looked at him expectantly. Before the radioman could clarify, LeBeau jumped in.

"_Oui_. Colonel, he is from London, from the East End. He can pick pockets, carries a knife with him that not even the Krauts know about, knows card games and curse words no one else here has ever heard of…and there is talk, Colonel," LeBeau lowered his voice, clearly doing his best to enhance the natural tension. "There is talk he has been in prison, _mon Colonel_."

Hogan nodded in some wonder, taking in the vast rap sheet LeBeau and Kinch had just described. The colonel considered for a moment, then asked, "Is he the best there is?"

Kinch looked Hogan in the eye, and stated baldly, "Without a doubt, sir."

"Then I think I'd better meet with him, anyway. I may be able to work with him. Get him to behave himself a little better."

"If you can manage that, Colonel, you are a miracle-worker." LeBeau shook his head, smiling in wry amusement.

Hogan shrugged. "Where can I find him?"

"The Cooler, sir. Naturally." Kinch gave an apologetic half-smile.

Hogan sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. "Guess I shouldn't be too surprised…All right, Kinch, you take inventory of the radio parts we've got and what we'll need. Try to assess what kind of range we have, and how far underground we can place it without blocking the signal." Kinch nodded eagerly, his dark eyes flashing in anticipation.

"Carter, you and LeBeau draw up a map of the camp and what tunnels we've got going so far. I wanna know where they begin, where they end, how deep – all that. We're going to need a pretty complex system, eventually, with at least two leading in and out of camp. So make the map as accurately scaled as you can. We're going to be drawing up the new plans based on your measurements." The two men nodded, grinning at each other excitedly.

"In the meantime, I'm gonna go have a chat with our English friend and see if I can't cure him of his wicked ways." Hogan grinned and grabbed his crush cap from off the table. The men all stood, nodded quickly in recognition of their new pact of shared friendship and responsibility, then headed off in their separate directions.

Hogan stepped into the dank Cooler hallway, congratulating himself on being able to gain access to the solitary prisoner. Just a little bluster about the "senior POW's rights to meet _all _men under his command", and some well-placed references to the Geneva Convention had done the trick with Klink. Hogan was quickly gaining confidence and skill, and – through them – the belief that he would be able to make this assignment a success.

Armed with a chocolate bar, Hogan convinced his escort – Schultz once again – to give him some time alone with the Englishman. With the promise of ten minutes, Hogan was allowed into the man's cell.

As he entered, Hogan's eyes flew immediately the blue uniform seated on the tiny cot, and the man who filled it.

"_So this is Peter Newkirk." _Hogan thought. There was a studied nonchalance to the English corporal's slouched position, and an amused cleverness in the green eyes that returned his own stare.

The Briton raked his eyes over the colonel, coolly appraising Hogan with a wry expression. Unlike the three non-coms Hogan had already met, this man did nothing to acknowledge Hogan or his rank. He didn't salute, he didn't offer to shake hands. Hell, the man didn't even bother to stand up.

Hogan raised an eyebrow in annoyance and took a step toward the RAF flyer. As if sensing he had pushed his limit too far, the corporal languidly raised himself from the cot and offered Hogan a sloppy salute. Hogan's somewhat frosty and regulation return brought a sardonic smile to the Englishman's face, and he cocked his head sideways, speaking at last.

"Reckon you're the new senior officer, then?" It was more a statement than a question, and expressed a world of disdain. The way he said "officer" made it clear there was no love lost between him and authority figures.

"That's right." Hogan responded, evenly. Already it was clear he'd have more luck with this man if he defied his expectations, rather than lived up to them. "And you are?"

"Peter Newkirk…sir. Corporal, RAF."

"Good to meet you. What are you in here for, corporal?" Hogan began slowly.

"Oh, the usual, sir. Disturbin' the peace, and generally makin' a nuisance of myself to the Krauts." Newkirk answered proudly.

Hogan grinned a little at the man's spirit. "Well, that's no crime…Heard you spend kind of a lot of time in here, though, Newkirk."

The Briton's face darkened momentarily, before it broke out in a defiantly cheery smile. When he spoke there was a hard edge underlying his words. "Me mates been tellin' tales about me, 'ave they?"

"They have." Hogan knew it would do no good to lie. Newkirk was too astute and observant a con-man to fall for any snow-job Hogan could devise. "They also say you're the best at what you do."

Clearly aware of the appeal to his pride, Newkirk met Hogan's eye squarely. "Well, sir, that _is _true."

"In that case," Hogan dropped his voice, "I have a proposition for you."

Newkirk frowned, casting his sharp and surprisingly piercing glance at Hogan. Satisfied that he was not being taken in, Newkirk nodded slowly. "And what might that be, sir?"

"A chance for you to stay in practice, and cause the Krauts a significant amount of trouble all at the same time."

"Sounds too good to be true, sir." Newkirk responded, cautiously. "And under just what circumstances would I be doin' all this?"

"I'm going to lay this on the line, corporal." Hogan looked directly at Newkirk, imparting the utter seriousness of the situation to his subordinate. "I've been sent here with orders from London to establish an underground sabotage unit."

Newkirk's eyes widened. "Right 'ere in the stalag, sir? You're 'avin' a bath if you think you're gettin' away with that!"

"Oh, I don't know, Newkirk. Klink and Schultz'll make things a little easier for us—"

"Now 'old on, sir! There is no 'us' yet. You'll still 'ave the Gestapo to worry about. Not all the Germans are as stupid as the Kommandant 'ere!" Newkirk cut in.

"Yes, I'm aware of that, corporal, but these are _my_ orders. Now, I'm trying to put together the best team I can, and we need someone of your considerable…talent to help us." Hogan appealed.

Newkirk's face had darkened once more. "Talent, sir? Don't you mean 'experience.' I know what the others 'ave told ya 'bout me."

"Newkirk—"

"No, sir. If I guess correctly, they probably told you what a self-centered little rotter I am. An' if you 'ad listened to 'em, you'd know the only thing I want is to get through this war with me own 'ide intact." Hogan sighed inwardly, as Newkirk recoiled himself back onto the cot. "I'm not about to go riskin' me life for some barmy plan what'll get me killed."

Hogan tried one last ditch effort. "How long have you been here, corporal? A year? Two?" He went on, though Newkirk looked firmly away from him. "Your countrymen are still fighting and dying. You can still do something to help them. This mission could save lives. Help the war end sooner. You have a real chance here, Newkirk, to do something great. Something people won't have to talk about behind your back."

Newkirk turned his head slowly to look at Hogan, venom in his eyes and shame making its unbidden way across his face.

"_So he has a conscience, after all." _Knowing he had struck a nerve, Hogan decided not to go any further. "The choice is yours, Newkirk. This mission is volunteers-only."

Newkirk simply glared grudgingly back at him.

"It was good to meet you, corporal." Hogan turned to leave, but spun to face the Englishman once more. "Please think about it."

Newkirk's mouth pressed into a thin line, and he quickly cast his discerning gaze to the floor. He gave Hogan a nearly imperceptible nod. Satisfied that Newkirk was actually going to do as requested, Hogan nodded and left the room, calling for Schultz to return.

As the colonel made his way back to _Barracke 2_, he felt a mix of emotions. Faint disappointment at having failed to secure Newkirk's help right away, but an even greater sense of satisfaction at having stirred the hardened Englishman's conscience. The anger and arguments for self-preservation, Hogan suspected, were just as much masks disguising a solid sense of morality as they were by-products of having spent a life on the London streets.

Hogan allowed himself a small smile, hopeful that he was correct in his assessment of Newkirk's character, and that the Brit would make the right decision in the end. Buoyed by these thoughts, Hogan reentered the barracks and prepared himself to receive Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau's reports.


	3. A Small Victory

Author's Note: Wish I did, but I don't own Hogan's Heroes. This is just for fun! Rather short-ish chapter this time...I apologize! Thanks again to all who have been reading/reviewing - you guys make my day!

**Chapter 3: A Small Victory**

Two days later, Hogan's operation was rapidly coming together. He, Carter, Kinch, and LeBeau had been working virtually around the clock gathering information and supplies. They had also begun collaborating with Oscar Schnitzer, the vet who came ostensibly to change out the guard dogs, but who was, in fact, an underground agent. With his help, they had been able to assemble almost all of the radio parts Kinch was missing. Carter and LeBeau's map of camp had taken a great deal of time and energy. Knowing how much was at stake, they had checked and double-checked their measurements, wanting to be certain that the new tunnel system would be safe and effective.

Hogan could not be prouder of the men, and how willingly and energetically they had thrown themselves into the work. They were still missing several key components to their operation, but it was progressing even more quickly than Hogan had dared to dream. Digging on the new tunnels would begin soon, and they were recruiting new volunteers for minor roles on the team everyday.

The colonel was still concerned about their lack of a lock-pick, however. He was just mulling over possibly returning to the Cooler to try Newkirk again when Carter knocked on the door of his quarters.

He entered excitedly, saying, "Could you come out here, Colonel? There's someone who wants to talk to you!"

Hogan raised an eyebrow, but didn't bother to ask anything further. He stepped out of his office and into the barracks' common area where he stopped short in surprise.

Newkirk had evidently been released from the Cooler, for there he was. He stood in the center of the room, near the long table, attempting to ignore the less-than-friendly looks he was receiving from many of the other POWs. He was doing a fair job of it, too, though Hogan could read the Englishman's discomfort in his eyes and the set of his mouth. But there was something else there, too. Hogan broke out into a wide grin as he realized, in a flash, what it was.

The corporal's face was considerably less guarded and caustic than the last time Hogan had seen it. More than that, though, there was a sincerity in Newkirk's expression as he looked back at Hogan.

Hardly daring to hope he had completely broken through the cynical young man's defenses, Hogan asked, "What can I do for you, Corporal?"

Without looking at any of the others, Newkirk said in a rush, "Well, sir, it's awfully borin' 'ere in camp. A bloke could go stir-crazy if 'e didn't keep 'imself occupied. So, I – I've come to volunteer, sir. Not for…what you asked me. The big stuff, I mean. I just thought I could…I dunno, 'elp with the tunnels or something?" he finished rather lamely, though he looked relieved at having gotten through the whole thing.

Though he was more disappointed than he had a right to be – _"Get a grip, Rob. You knew it couldn't possibly be _that_ easy."_ – Hogan masked it quickly, and grinned broadly.

"Certainly, Newkirk. We'd be happy to have you!" He moved toward the Englishman, reaching out to place a hand on the Cockney's shoulder. Hogan turned to face the rest of the men in the barracks. "Isn't that right, fellas?"

The other men mumbled affirmative answers, some nodding slightly, but not really meeting Newkirk's or Hogan's eyes. On his left, Hogan could sense, rather than see, Newkirk's face returning to the sarcastic half-smile.

"Well, don't everyone thank me at once." Newkirk joked, trying to save face.

A couple of men chuckled before the room began to fall into an awkward silence. Thankfully, Carter was oblivious to the tension and piped up excitedly, "We're sure glad to have ya, boy! It's gonna be fun. Wait till ya see all the tunnels and stuff we have planned. Man, you're gonna—"

"Mate, I just went and volunteered. You don't 'ave to give me the recruitin' speech." Newkirk teased, rolling his eyes a little.

There was another tentative laugh from the other men, this one louder and more comfortable than the first. Hogan smiled quietly in approval, catching Kinch in an identical expression.

Eager not to lose any of the momentum the operation had built up over the last few days, Hogan asked for all the men working on the tunnels to come into his office to look over the blueprints and receive their assignments for the next few weeks. The volunteers piled into Hogan's quarters, gathering around the table.

"Right. So, we're gonna work on no more than two tunnels at a time. Any more and too many men will be missing from the barracks and the compound. The Krauts'll get suspicious. You six –" Hogan gestured to half of the circle assembled before him, "—will begin working on a tunnel leading from the rec hall back to the command center. That'll be right underneath this barracks, and _that_—" he now turned to the second half of the men, "—is your assignment. We dig all tunnels straight down fifteen feet before going horizontal. I want them deep enough the Krauts'll never collapse 'em."

The men all grinned, remembering the last tunnel Schultz had "discovered" by virtue of his weight.

Newkirk, a member of the second group, assigned to begin work on the command center beneath _Barracke 2_, asked, "Where'd you want the entrance to our tunnel, sir?"

Hogan took a deep breath, knowing what he was about to suggest was unorthodox at best. "I'm glad you asked, Corporal, 'cause that's where it gets interesting…the entrance is going to be the bottom bunk in the northeast corner of the barracks."

Newkirk cocked his head, looking alarmed. "Beggin' the colonel's pardon, but don't you think the Krauts are gonna notice an enormous 'ole in the middle of one of our beds?"

The rest of the men looked at Newkirk sharply, amazed he would talk so impertinently to the colonel. Noticing the reaction, Hogan smiled peaceably, "It's a fair question. Actually, I've got Kinch working on a mechanism that'll allow that bunk to flip up and down to disguise the entrance. We're gonna build and attach a ladder to the bottom of the bunk, too, to get ourselves down there. The whole thing'll be activated by pressing on a certain panel on the bunk…it'll make more sense when you see the plans, believe me."

Newkirk and many of the other men were shaking their heads in wonder. Carter, also assigned to the team digging the command center, merely nodded happily.

"Any more questions, fellas?" Hogan asked. Newkirk raised his eyes, mouth twitching in amusement, knowing that the question was mostly for him.

There was a chorus of "no-sir"s, and Newkirk added, "Sounds like you've got everything figured out, Colonel."

"Not everything, Newkirk. Not quite." Hogan returned pointedly, letting his eyes linger just half a second longer on the younger man. But before the other men could work out what the comment was driving at, or notice the Englishman's slightly reddening face, Hogan sent them off.

"Right, then. You all know what to do. Schnitzer brought us some shovels on his last visit. They're stored in the rec hall for now. If any Krauts catch you with 'em, just tell 'em Klink gave them to us for gardening. The excess dirt is gonna be distributed throughout the compound and in the garden outside Klink's office. And, until we can find a better supply, you'll have to strip the barracks down to get wood for support beams. Remember to take turns digging, and get plenty of air and water on your breaks. Good luck, men. Now get to it!"

The men departed, heading to the rec hall for their shovels; Newkirk was the last one out. As Hogan watched the corporal's retreating back he thought he saw the Englishman pause by the office door. The RAF man turned his head just slightly, as if he was going to say something, then quickly appeared to change his mind, and strode out the door.

Hogan sighed and crossed his arms around himself. He hoped Newkirk would come around. No matter how disinterested the man tried to appear, his questions showed that he was already invested in this assignment. The corporal's ability to work through plans and potential oversights was something Hogan would need on the team. Though he certainly did not consider Kinch, Carter, or LeBeau to be "yes-men", they lacked Newkirk's immediate willingness – one might even say _enthusiasm_ – to challenge him.

"_He's definitely the right one for the job."_ Hogan believed more firmly than ever. _"Now if I can just win him over…"_ Working on the tunnels would build friendships between Newkirk and the other men, Hogan had no doubt. He would just have to wait and see if that camaraderie would tip the scales in their favor.


	4. Winning Friends and Influencing People

Author's Note: Nope, I don't own Hogan's Heroes. But I like it one heck of a lot...which is why I wrote this!

**Chapter 4: Winning Friends and Influencing People**

Hogan's predictions regarding the men were spot-on, as it turned out, at least as far as forging friendships was concerned. Spending time among the tightly-knit group of men, and working with them toward a common goal – even one as simple as finishing the next feet of a tunnel – was helping to integrate Newkirk into their close unit. In fact, he fit into the group far better than anyone expected.

Carving out a niche for himself as the proudest, cockiest, and funniest all-around trouble-maker, Newkirk quickly earned the liking of the other men. He told jokes and performed magic tricks on rest breaks, and gained the reputation of the worst coffee-maker in camp immediately upon brewing his first pot of thick, black ersatz sludge.

The other men saw right through the huffy front Newkirk presented against the wide-ranging insults to his culinary skills, and – indeed – against any perceivable affront to his person. The case was the same with the greatly exaggerated gusto with which he won their money in card games. Very mysteriously, he always seemed to run into a rotten string of bad luck toward the end of the game, and ended up giving back all the money he'd won. Well, _almost_ all of it. Kinch, in particular, found this trait amusing, though he knew Newkirk would deny losing purposely if asked about it.

His increasing likeability also afforded him the opportunity to earn the team's respect. For, while Kinch thought Newkirk's oddly recurring bad luck at the poker table was funny, he also thought it spoke highly of the Englander's thoughtfulness. There were other things, too, which all the men noticed. Little things like volunteering to take a night shift digging while so-and-so got some sleep, even though he himself had just come off a long shift underground. Or even something as small as stealing some extra food from the guards' mess, so that LeBeau could cook a better dinner for everyone.

As the days and weeks went by, and the tunnel network grew ever more complex and complete, Newkirk and the others ate, dug, and sweat together. They commiserated over their blisters and their stiff backs, shook their heads in wonder at Colonel Hogan and the mission they were about to embark upon, and shared personal stories from before and during the war, in their downtime. And somewhere in between all the talking, laughing, complaining, digging, and working, the deep roots of friendship took hold.

Hogan observed all this with an expectant and hopeful eye. With the essential tunnels near completion, and the radio parts ready to be assembled in the command center, he knew it wouldn't be long before London began giving them assignments. The colonel could only hope that the socialization and the satisfaction of feeling useful to the Allied cause once more would be enough to pull Newkirk onto the team.

After all, it would only be a matter of time before a job requiring his special talents came down the wire from High Command. And though Hogan had scoped out a few potential stand-ins, Newkirk was the best in the camp, and would be an extremely valuable asset. With nothing to do but wait and see how events played out, Hogan found himself wondering constantly why the RAF corporal couldn't be as agreeable about the mission as he was with his new comrades.

Exactly seventeen days after Hogan's arrival at Stalag 13, the final adjustments were made to the radio set in the underground command center. The American colonel stood anxiously near the table, while Kinch tapped out Morse code, attempting to notify London that the unit was now ready to begin operation.

Using the recognition codes and frequency that had been passed along to them by Schnitzer, the two men held their collective breath, waiting for the response from High Command. It took what seemed like an eternity, but which was – in reality – only thirty seconds or so, for London to respond. As the rapid-fire tap-tapping of Morse filled the room, both men started eagerly, and Kinch copied down the response. The sergeant double-checked his work as the message repeated, then handed the message to Hogan.

The colonel's eyes quickly scanned over the paper, and he exhaled softly, "Well, Kinch, here it is: our first assignment. Send word back to London that we acknowledge and accept. Tell 'em we'll report in with any problems, or when the mission is completed. Then get yourself, Carter, and LeBeau into my office. Newkirk, too."

Without batting an eye, Kinch nodded and immediately began relaying the colonel's message back to High Command.

As Kinch set about carrying out his orders, Hogan ascended the ladder and arrived in the barracks through the special bunk entrance. He made his way into his office and quickly began devising a plan of attack for his team's first mission.

All too soon, LeBeau knocked on the door of his study and poked his head in, interrupting Hogan mid-pace.

"You asked for us, _mon Colonel_?"

Hogan nodded, then gestured for the group outside his door to enter. "That's right, fellas. Come on in, and shut the door behind you."

The four men trooped into his office, Newkirk last and looking decidedly reluctant to be involved in whatever was going on, as he turned to close the door behind him. "What's goin' on, Colonel?" he asked warily. The tunnels having been finished, the Englishman was clearly aware that something larger and more serious was coming their way.

"Word's come in from London. We've got our first assignment, and they want it done by the end of the week. Now, they're starting us off small. We won't even need to leave camp for this one…but we will need to get into Klink's office. We're supposed to steal a new code book the Germans have been distributing to their officers. London advises that Klink'll probably have it locked up in his safe." Hogan trailed off, finally looking to Newkirk.

Attempting to simplify the assignment, and hopefully convince a certain safe-cracker of its feasibility, Hogan explained "LeBeau can distract Schultz while Carter sneaks over to Klink's office with the camera we got…we just need someone to get the safe open, so we can photograph the book. Then, Kinch'll radio the information back to London, and it's 'mission complete'."

Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau looked at each other in excitement. The two latter immediately piped up, working out further details of their roles in the assignment.

"I think I will make a _soufflé_ for Schultzie…or maybe strudel again?" mused LeBeau.

"And I should be able to get over to Klink's office in no time. I got bored on look-out the other night, and memorized the timing of the tower guards' searchlights!" Carter enthused. Kinch and LeBeau nodded in approval at the American sergeant's forethought. Though he often came across as something of a hayseed, Carter really was a sharp, resourceful man.

Their elation faded somewhat as they noticed Hogan still looking pointedly at Newkirk, who was looking just as pointedly at his boots.

"Well, Newkirk?" Hogan asked. "We've got everything but the most important part taken care of…What do you say, Corporal?" He braced himself for the Englishman's response, hoping the past two weeks had been enough to change his mind. Hogan felt he had a good chance; the RAF man had been exceedingly helpful with the tunnels, after all.

"Newkirk?"

Raising his eyes from the floor, and refocusing their gaze just short of meeting anyone else's scrutiny, the Englishman said embarrassedly, "It's like I said before, sir…A man can get shot for bein' a spy. I mean, diggin' tunnels is one thing, but this? Sir, I—" Newkirk broke off, shaking his head.

Before Hogan could respond, the other men jumped in, trying their best to get Newkirk onboard.

"Come on, Newkirk! Just think how you will be getting back at those dirty _Bosche_! _Le Colonel_ has a plan – we will be alright." LeBeau urged.

"Yeah, Newkirk, it'll be fun! Assuming, you know, that we don't get caught…Um, but I'm sure we won't. We've got a plan and everything!" Carter awkwardly tried to encourage his friend.

"I just can't do it, mates, that's all." Newkirk softly, but firmly, replied, returning his gaze to the floor.

"And why not?" LeBeau angrily demanded. "Are you too afraid now to do just a little thieving? What is so different this time? Or have you become a coward since you left London?"

"That's enough, LeBeau!" Hogan cut in sharply.

Newkirk's eyes flashed dangerously, and looked squarely at LeBeau. "I'd be very careful 'ow I chose me next words if I were you, mate."

LeBeau said nothing, pursing his lips and turning up his nose just slightly. Though there was plenty still he wanted to say, Hogan's presence prevented him from doing so…and prevented him also, as LeBeau later thought in retrospect, from receiving quite a beating.

Kinch and Carter looked between the other three men, as Hogan quickly defused the situation.

"Alright. You three, out. Newkirk, if you would stay just a minute." Hogan made it clear that it was an order and not a request. His patience with Newkirk had finally run out; he was tired of tip-toeing around the Englishman, and had decided to get to the root of the problem.

Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau filed out of the office, all three men silent, but one still glaring daggers at the English corporal. Once they had exited and re-shut the door, Hogan rounded on Newkirk.

"Alright, Corporal. Now I need you to tell me why you won't do this. You've been great these last few weeks, and a real help with the tunnels. I know this is a little more dangerous, but Carter's right. We really do have a solid plan to get that book…and I can smooth-talk Klink out of anything in case one of us should get caught." Receiving no response from the younger man now slouching sullenly against the door, Hogan continued.

"You flew for your country. Hopped in a plane and risked your life everyday to protect England. Surely that was more dangerous than something as simple as this? I need you to live up to that uniform you're wearing. We need you on the team. I wouldn't say so if I didn't believe it was absolutely true. But you _are _the best in camp, Newkirk, and, from what I hear, very well-practiced. Now, I want an answer: why do you keep refusing to be a part of this?"


	5. The Jitters

Author's Note: I still own _nothing_!! Just writing for fun!

**Chapter 5: The Jitters**

Newkirk sighed and pulled off his hat. He ran it through his hands, staring intently at it, as he finally answered Hogan's question.

"Alright, sir. I—I really just _shouldn't_ be a part of something like this. It's too important."

Dumbfounded, Hogan responded, "Too important? Newkirk, that's exactly why we need you! You're the best we've got!"

"No, Colonel…I'm not—I mean, I _am_ the best in camp. But I just—" Newkirk, frustrated, stumbled over his words. "I'm just kind of a screw-up, Colonel. Believe me, getting me involved will just put the whole mission at risk."

"How's that?" Hogan asked, slightly surprised.

Newkirk shook his head and raised his eyes from his hat to look at Hogan. "Sir, I—I'm kinda like a bad luck charm. Me ol' man always told me I was good for nothin', and—and 'e was right, sir. Even doin' what I was in London, I 'ardly ever managed to get away clean."

Hogan remained silent, but raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Catching the colonel's meaning, Newkirk continued, "Oh, I'm alright at the little stuff. But the bigger jobs…sir, the bobbies – er, police – caught up to me almost every time. It's 'ow I ended up in the RAF in the first place. They gave me a choice: jail or the military. God knows it wasn't any 'eroic impulse of me own…Anyway, I know ya been askin' around about me, Colonel, and I know you know what I done. Which is why I can't understand why ya keep askin' me about it. Why on earth would ya want a ruddy criminal in the unit? Especially one what can't keep from gettin' caught?"

Newkirk took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders, his relief at finally admitting the cause of his reluctance evident in his posture.

Having finally gained the insight he needed, Hogan smiled slightly and put his hand on the Englishman's shoulder.

"Newkirk, it's partly because you _are _a criminal that we need you. You have real, practical experience, and that gives you an invaluable edge over anyone else on the team. But, Peter—"

Newkirk looked up at the unexpected use of his first name.

"—more than that, I've seen what you can do. The last couple weeks in the tunnels, you've proven yourself a hard worker and a good fit with the rest of the men."

The Englishman opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it.

"No matter how much you may try to deny it," Hogan continued, with a knowing smirk, "You've actually become pretty good friends with them…even LeBeau, I think?"

The corner of Newkirk's mouth pulled up into an amused half-smile at that, and he shook his head in wonder.

"You're just not going to take 'no' for an answer, are ya, Colonel?" he asked in resignation.

Hogan grinned broadly. "No, Corporal, I'm not."

"Well, then," Newkirk turned slightly more serious, "I guess I can 'elp you…just this once?"

_That'll do for now,_ Hogan thought to himself.

"Sure, Newkirk. Just this once."

He held out his hand. Newkirk's face still bore some traces of reluctance, but he took the colonel's hand and pledged his help, nevertheless.

The next night, everything was set for the mission. As the time ticked by to "lights out," the team gathered around the table in Barracks 2 and tried to keep their nerves calm. Hogan and Kinch drank coffee and watched Newkirk and Carter play seemingly endless hands of gin rummy, while LeBeau busied himself by fretting over the strudel he was making to distract Schultz. The minutes ticked by, their silence unbroken but for the Frenchman's muttering about cinnamon and the period exclamations of victory and annoyance from the card players.

Despite their best attempts, each man felt the tension and anxiety in the room. More than one of them felt his stomach doing flip-flops that evening, but each – to his credit – put a brave face on, and tried to appear confident for the others' sake. Though he bore the brunt of the responsibility, Hogan kept a small smile firmly in place, well aware that his team would draw strength and comfort from that sign of optimism. Needless to say, it was a relief when Schultz finally came in to announce lights-out.

The men went through the motions of getting ready for bed, and turned out the lights in the barracks. No man even considered the possibility of sleep, even those completely uninvolved with the mission that night.

The core team members waited an hour, then wordlessly left their bunks and regrouped in the center of the room. Hogan nodded shortly, and gave them one final pep talk.

"Alright, fellas," he said in a whisper. "This is it. Just do your jobs, and everything'll be fine. You guys are the best. Now, good luck and get going."

Hogan smiled crookedly as the other four men nodded.

LeBeau grabbed the covered tray of strudel from the stove and moved to the barracks' door. The Frenchman took a deep breath, then quietly opened the door and left to find Schultz.

Newkirk and Carter then took their positions by the door. As he waited to hear Schultz's voice, and LeBeau's diversion, the English corporal looked back at Hogan with something akin to panic in his eyes. Before he could say anything, though, LeBeau's voice sounded from just outside the wall.

"Hiya, Schultzie! Nice night, huh?"

"C-c-cockroach! What are you doing out of the barracks?!" Schultz's voice was shocked.

"Oh, nothing. Just getting some fresh air…But say, Schultzie, I was wondering if you could help me with something."

"No! It is strictly _verboten_ to fraternize with the enemy, especially when they are supposed to be in bed sleeping!" The German guard reproached.

"Ah, come on, it's nothing funny. I just made some strudel earlier today, and was wondering if you could help me get rid of it. None of the other guys wanted any."

Accompanying the sound of LeBeau's voice, the other men heard the lid being removed to uncover the Frenchman's bribe. Despite their nervousness, none of them could suppress a smile when Schultz immediately began hem-ing and haw-ing, and quickly reconsidered.

"Well…as long as there is no funny business going on…"

"Of course not, Schultzie! Would I do that to you?" LeBeau encouraged the corpulent guard.

With hastily murmured assent, the sergeant dug in. Knowing it was now or never, Newkirk and Carter exchanged a glance, then wordlessly left the barracks.

Hogan stared after their retreating backs, and sent a silent prayer into the night that everything would go smoothly. A lot was riding on this mission, including the future success of the entire operation at Stalag 13. It simply _had_ to work.


	6. Just This Once

Author's Note: HH is not mine, nor are the characters. This is the last chapter...I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thanks to everyone who has been reading, and especially to those who have been reviewing - can't tell you how much it means to me!

**Chapter 6: Just This Once**

Hogan passed what seemed like an eternity, pacing in the barracks and anxiously waiting to see if his plan would work. The consequences would be beyond disastrous if even the slightest thing went wrong and the men were caught. Disastrous not only for Hogan, but for everyone involved. The operation would be over before it had even really began, and the Allies would likely never another location as perfect as Stalag 13. It simply _had_ to work.

And work it did.

Within fifteen minutes, Newkirk and Carter were safely back in the barracks, and LeBeau was hurriedly giving Schultz the last two pieces of strudel so that he, too, could come back inside. Carter handed the camera to Kinch, who immediately made for the darkroom in the tunnel. LeBeau sidled through the door just as Kinch was tapping the panel on the bunk, and all five men descended into the command center.

Finally able to talk freely, LeBeau, Carter, and Newkirk broke out into wide grins and began talking animatedly to one another. Kinch nodded at Hogan, then disappeared into the darkroom to develop the photos Carter had gotten of the code book.

Hogan looked on in relief and amusement at three remaining men.

"Did ya see us, LeBeau? Ol' Carter 'ad those searchlights timed to the second! Ruddy Krauts never stood a chance o' catchin' us!"

"I did, _Pierre_! And did you see how easily Schultzie fell for my cooking? It wasn't even the best strudel I have made. Next time I will have to use more cinnamon…"

"Yeah, Louie, you were great! And you shoulda seen Newkirk get into that safe, boy! Took out a stethoscope to listen, just like a doctor or something. Figured it out in no time!"

The Englishman smiled and gave an exaggerated bow. "My pleasure, gents. There's not much as escapes these fingers!"

Carter and LeBeau laughed, and Hogan finally spoke up.

"I knew you could do it, Newkirk."

The corporal grew serious as he turned and nodded at the colonel. His subdued expression lasted only a moment, though, before turning back to the other two non-coms just as puffed-up and self-congratulatory as before.

Hogan smiled at the prideful show the Brit was putting on for LeBeau and Carter's benefit. He understood Newkirk's desire continue being seen as a cocky devil-may-care type, knowing that the Englishman's reputation around camp – and his constant teasing and joking – prevented others from discovering the slightly less confident man within.

At the same time, Hogan had recognized the silent thanks in Newkirk's gaze. He allowed himself a quick smile, certain at last that the corporal was truly a member of the team, and paced the room slowly as he waited for Kinch to return from the darkroom.

A short time later, after most of the men's euphoria had faded, Kinch emerged into the radio room. He carried with him the developed pictures, and handed them to Hogan for inspection. The colonel held up the narrow strip of film, looking through a magnifying glass to make sure the information was readable.

"It's perfect," he finally declared. "Congratulations, fellas, we did it. Kinch, get on the horn to London and tell 'em we've got the code."

The radioman smiled. "Right away, sir." He sat down at the table and immediately began contacting High Command.

Once he raised them, he relayed the news of the mission's success and asked for further instruction. When the response came in, Kinch's expression darkened slightly. He copied down the message, and handed it to Hogan.

With the other men looking on anxiously, the colonel read London's answer aloud.

"Good work. Next step: make contact with agent 'Jack Sprat' in the _Hauserhof_ Hotel in Düsseldorf tomorrow night. Your code name is 'Papa Bear'. Recognition sequence as follows: 'Are you coming to Bertha's party next Saturday?' Response is: 'Only if Uncle Wolfgang has promised to go.' Upon meeting, hand off film to Jack Sprat for delivery to High Command. Mission urgent. Deadline forty-eight hours."

Hogan looked around at the others, and quirked his mouth ironically. "They don't ask much, do they?"

Kinch, Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau nodded vigorously in agreement. Before they could voice their protests, however, Hogan spoke again.

"Alright, Kinch. Send word back to London confirming the assignment. We'll get it done."

Kinch raised his eyebrows only slightly, as he turned back to the radio set and did as instructed. There was a brief moment of silence, then—

"Are you serious, Colonel?! We've only just begun this bleedin' operation. 'Ow do you expect we're gonna manage to disguise ourselves as civilians and sneak our way out of camp, all the way to Düsseldorf?"

Though it didn't show on his face, Hogan smiled inwardly at Newkirk's continued willingness to poke holes in his plans. The corporal had a point; London had just handed them a pretty tall order, and one for which they were relatively unequipped.

Thinking out loud, Hogan responded, "Well, I think it'd be best if only one or two of us leave camp. We'll need to get a couple civilian outfits made. As for getting into town, it's not too far. We can manage the walk this time, going through the woods, out of the tunnel exit we made in that tree stump…but we need to start working on getting regular access to the motor pool as soon as possible. And if we could manage some German uniforms and identification papers, we'd have an even easier time getting in and out of camp in the future…"

He cut himself off before he could get too far ahead of the task at hand.

"But for tomorrow night, I'll go into town to make contact with Jack Sprat. Carter, I want you to come and be lookout."

The blond sergeant swallowed visibly, and nodded.

Hogan turned to LeBeau. "LeBeau, you said you can sew, right? Can you get two civilian suits done by tomorrow night?"

The shorter man looked thoughtful, "I think so, _mon Colonel_. I will certainly try…what will we use for material? Schnitzer hasn't been able to bring us any yet, and I'm not sure old sewn-together uniforms will pass."

Hogan opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, he was interrupted.

"Beggin' the Colonel's pardon," Newkirk began softly. "But I've also done my share of tailorin'. The blankets the Krauts gave us could be made into passable suits. It'd be better if we had some dye to fix 'em proper, but they should be alright for now…"

"My thoughts exactly. LeBeau, you get started right away. Use the extra blankets in the barracks for now, and we'll get you more after morning roll call."

The Frenchman nodded, moving toward the ladder to return to the barracks and begin gathering supplies.

Hogan looked at the three remaining men. "You three get some rest, alright? Especially you, Carter. It's gonna be another late night tomorrow…Excellent work tonight, all of you." He gestured to the ladder. "Now go get some shut-eye. Roll call's in just a few hours."

The men nodded and began heading toward the ladder. Newkirk positioned himself at the end of the line, lagging back as the other two climbed back up into the barracks. He turned back to Hogan.

"Colonel, if you want, I could 'elp LeBeau with making those suits. I really am a pretty fair tailor, sir, and I wouldn't mind 'elpin' as long as—"

"—As long as it's just this once?" Hogan asked, with a sardonic grin.

The Englishman was taken aback for a moment, then his eyes flickered with mutual understanding and amusement. Affecting a solemn, long-suffering tone, he replied.

"Just this once, sir…and only 'cause you lot are in such dire straits an' all."

"Of course." Hogan shook his head at the British corporal.

Newkirk moved to climb the ladder, then turned back to Hogan, no longer faking his seriousness. He said abruptly, "Thanks, Colonel…for trusting me with this."

Not wishing to prolong the man's discomfort, Hogan merely replied, "Anytime, Newkirk. We really can't do this without you, you know."

Newkirk let the remark settle for a moment, and nodded. A sly smile slowly spread across the Englishman's face, and he said finally, "Guess it'll 'ave to be more than just this once, eh, Guv'nor?"

Hogan returned the grin. "Guess so."

Satisfied, and still smiling happily to himself, Newkirk climbed the ladder back into the barracks to find LeBeau.

Hogan followed the enlisted man, happy to have finally secured the last essential member of his team. And as recognition of the new nickname struck him, he made a mental note to ask Newkirk sometime what a "gov'nor" was.

**The End.**


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